Thunder over clear skies
by Lady Vivienne
Summary: What I think would have happened between Cas and Dean if Sam hadn't walked in so soon on their little heart-to-heart in episode 8x08. Oneshot. Destiel all the way.


"I'm afraid I might try to kill myself."

Dean always thought himself as a slow, kind of a… dumb son of a bitch. Sam got all the brains in the family: end of story. Besides being good at shooting things and keeping his baby brother alive, Dean didn't define himself by anything else. Rather, he never gave it much thought; when it came to self-reflection (or self-esteem, or self-worth, or anything self-related), Dean sucked ass and he knew it.

But, hell, it took him a whole 10 seconds to process one sentence. Maybe it was the sheer desperation in Cas' baby blues. That gaze of his didn't belong fixed on him; that kind of sincere, lost, trusting look should have been aimed at God, or some divine creature, that could actually _fix _this.

Maybe someone that could fix him, too. Because this was like watching glass shattering, or a thunder being contained. Cas was one of the bravest, strongest persons he knew, so when the thunder cracked and the sheer humanity filling Cas' eyes got through, Dean snapped.

His hand moved of its own volition. Or, he let himself think as such. He wrapped his fingers around Cas', caressed the warm, smooth skin with his thumb; he felt the angel stiffen, and watched his eyes widen. This wasn't a dream, or some guilt-ridden nightmare, if the feeling of elegant, pale hands proved anything. Dean released a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Don't… say that", he whispered gruffly. "Cas, don't ever fucking say that again."

And Cas pursed his lips in annoyance, his eyes screaming a different kind of _'Dean, I said no' _than earlier. He didn't move his hand at all; suddenly, Dean felt like he was watching a scared, majestic bird, confused and unsure of the world, petrified of its own lack of understanding. It always amazed him how the being behind the frowns and the trench-coat, this celestial, ancient creature that animated Jimmy's body, could have nested itself so perfectly into the blue, serene skies that were its human eyes. Sometimes he forgot he was dealing with a millennia-old angel; and then again, sometimes he didn't.

But when said powerful, all-smiting creature confesses thoughts of suicide, you either kick some sense into its head or kiss it until the pain goes away.

"Dean…" said Cas then, a little chastising, a little frustrated, a little desperate. "I don't…"

Dean was slowly intertwining his fingers with Cas', feeling like his heart was going to burst, and the moment Dean's lips touched the angel's was the moment Cas stopped talking. It wasn't a… 'spur of the moment' kind of thing. This was the end to a story with a broken everything. At least, Dean felt like that right now; like he was hollowed out, like a black hole made the world, and what the world had molded Dean into, stop mattering.

In the tranquil silence that encompassed the room, and the stillness of their bodies, the shiver that ran through Dean at the sensation of Cas' breath on his lips felt like an earthquake. This hidden, powerful _bond_ between them had broken its armistice of ignorance and self-deceit; because Dean could take Cas dying for Earth's salvation, Cas dying at the hands of an archangel, Cas choosing to stay behind in Purgatory… hell, he could take Cas dying for _him,_ but he could not take Cas dying of his own hands. Cas deciding to switch off the lights, driven to it by the guilt and pain Dean couldn't have been the cure to. It would be just another testament of how Dean is never, ever, enough.

So he tries to fix it, mend it, _show _Cas that Heaven isn't all there is. When it came to choosing a side, Cas chose Dean's; and now, after everything, Dean deemed it all forgiven (_Cas, you child – why didn't you listen to me?). _

Dean murmured a blasphemy into the lost angel's mouth, nibbling on his upper lip and feeling it quiver. Cas' hand tightened inside his own, tense, strung like a hot wire; and suddenly, the other one was somewhere in his hair, and Dean's tongue was meeting another. It wasn't slow anymore, and Dean suddenly felt a little overwhelmed, because Cas was so… _hungry_. Not aggressive, or clingy, or anything that would taint him. No, it was like he hadn't been breathing for the last thousand years and now he had his first lungful of air; or, as if he had been lost in the desert and finally found an oasis. The warm, soft feeling of the angel's mouth was something he would remember for years; but the steady, fervent need, the sensation of being devoured one piece at a time, was something that would linger even more.

Dean broke the kiss first, gasping for breath. Cas looked sad for a moment; then, he probably remembered that humans, beside their 4 hour sleep, needed air to survive as well.

"Hey, guys, I got someth—" Sam's voice suddenly cut itself in mid-air and the giant himself stopped at the door.

Dean and Cas both stood up, Dean flushing red and Cas looking so damn pleased with himself.

"Is… everything okay here?" Sam asked, raising one eyebrow.

"Yeah! Yeah, of course it is," Dean answered immediately, then gave himself a mental slap for being the crappiest liar on the planet.

Sam's face didn't promise anything good, so when he opened his mouth again, Dean made sure to beat him to it.

"So what have you got?" he finally asked, gesturing for Sam to get on with it.

…Okay. So. Ahem. This is my first time writing SPN fanfiction. I always start things and leave them unfinished, so I mostly suck, but this is a one-shot (I could continue it, if I get… _reviewed _to the right path). Also, please excuse any grammatical mistakes; I'm not a native English speaker.

Now I'm off to kill myself by watching episode 8x08 again. Do let me know what you thought of this attempt, as it would be like warm, fluffy, winged hugs for my amateur writer soul.


End file.
